


Acknowledgement

by tenpointson



Category: Tokyo Babylon, X -エックス- | X/1999
Genre: Introspection, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, M/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:20:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25060765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenpointson/pseuds/tenpointson
Summary: Sakurazuka Seishirou ruminates over promises, patterns, and people.
Relationships: Sakurazuka Seishirou/Sumeragi Subaru
Kudos: 18





	Acknowledgement

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this AGES ago under a different pseudonym on the other major fanfiction site and am finally dragging it over here because this is one of the works that I'm not ashamed of re-posting.

Emotion without acknowledgement is an exercise in futility. There is nothing to say that it exists aside from words, empty and meaningless syllables of nonsense. What is the difference between romantic love and slow burning lust, if time and reciprocation are taken out of the equation? Where is the place between fear and anger, when there is no direction? What does any of it matter, when physical response has been trained out of the body so that the mind does not even recall what it is to feel? The difference between hunger and thirst is all in the material, and the two are often confused. Yet extreme hunger, extreme thirst, once relieved, may bring about rejection of the very thing which the body craves if there is too much, too fast Is hunger of the soul, a thirst of the heart, any different? Does it matter, if the active principle does not recognize, and the passive validate? 

Actions speak louder than words, and often fall on deaf ears. This is why we say things like ‘Hello’ and ‘Thank you’ and ‘I’m home’ and ‘I love you’ even though our actions make these words self evident. We are simply seeking acknowledgement, a sense that we have broken through the illusion of civility that permeates our existence. The polite dance of word and action, oath and expectation, all of which only serves to further distance us from each other, driving us into our allocated spheres of isolation more effectively than chains and fences could ever hope to. Modern technology has made this much easier and much, much more pervasive than at any other time in human history. How can one call a being they have never seen, never touched, friend? How can they be real? There is no balance. The human mind is now, more than ever, drawn into the mists dividing reality and fantasy. Reality is that you will die, most likely in a less than pleasant manner, over a span of time that will seem like eternity. Reality is that you will most likely have brought the manner of your death upon yourself. Over indulging in some things, rejecting others, leading you to obesity, cancer, cardiac arrest, stroke, Alzheimer’s, dementia, glaucoma, diabetes, irritable bowel syndrome, or any other of the myriad of physical ailments and mental degeneration that so plague our civilized lives of routine suicides that take a lifetime to complete. There is no balance without recognition, acknowledgement, of life in its entirety.

You do not recognize selfishness, you who are so dedicated to others that you neglect your physical needs, causing your other half no end of stress and distress. You cannot even realize the arrogance you possess with the simple assumption that she will be there for you, to tell you to sleep and eat and bathe and dress. It is not innocence, or naiveté, or any other form of absolution for your choices, for if you stopped to truly think of others for half a heartbeat, you would understand that these basic functions of self-sufficiency are fully developed in children less than half your age. This is rejection, denial, delusion and, worst of all, lack of acknowledgement. You do not allow yourself to see, and so are wilfully and willingly blind. I, always watching, see you for what you are, and acknowledge what that means I am, as well.

I made a bet with you, on that day. Embraced by an illusion of what I desired, the sought after and forever denied safety of a place to call my own where no one else could see me, find me, touch me and hurt me, I wandered amidst the spirits of those the Sakura has taken over the centuries. I thought you were a ghost as well, for what child wears shikifuku in this day and age in Tokyo? But you broke my illusion, shattered it with the words that I did not expect you to say, the reaction I did not expect you to have, the presence, the life that I did not conjure from my own mind. The ethereality of your spirit and the solidity of your presence within my space caused me to hope, for once, that someone could see what I see with eyes unclouded by judgement and societal norms and barriers of language and convention. I had hoped, and welcomed, and loved and hated you all in that moment. You were so simple, so pure...perhaps. Perhaps I was only seeing what I wanted to see. I am not infallible. I simply see the world with different eyes. As an onmyouji at such a young age, I wanted to know if you saw, too. Could you teach me, give me the experience of true feeling? Something so pure, so honest, as to leave no doubt as to what it was, who it was for, and remove all traces of anything else that could sully or distract from that one, true thing? Could you give me certainty, definition? Would you show me truth? Would I know safety, surety, with you?

I gave you a year, technically a year and a day. Like the time spent in an engagement or in mourning. A full cycle to let me see you in all your seasons, for better and worse, richer and poorer, sickness and health and I saw it all. I am your opposite, like she is your twin, and you took me as you took her, for granted. I acted, showed you my intentions, my hopes, my dreams and wishes and prayers, even going so far as to say the meaningless words in the face of your lack of recognition, your denial of acknowledgement. I gave you the keys to my self, and not once did you think outside your precious self-induced illusion and step back into mine. Not once. The kindness, the consideration you show to others refused to yourself, and by extension, to those you think of as so close to you to be part of your life.

I know what you came to say, that day in the hospital. I heard you, saw you. I am always watching you. You cannot hide from me. The realization may, eventually, have brought about a change in your reality. It was much faster to simply break your arm. The woman who raised you learned a lesson as well in reality coming to fruition over any intentions, however well meaning they may be. I hated you then, you know. I loved you just as much. I wanted you equally. I wanted you to go away certainly. It was unimportant. That didn’t matter, for I refused to acknowledge my emotions in petty revenge for you doing the same to me for a year. Vengeance, however, is not justice, and justice is the function of the Sakurazukamori as much as protecting the land and maintaining the balance. Justice is balance. I let you live, for breaking my word. I did not experience true feeling, but I did deny the complex tangle of emotion you produced in me just as you denied mine. For that, you continued to exist, though I’m not sure I would call it life.

When she came to me, I killed her, fulfilling her wish. Death is the balance of life. All who are born die. Trapped as she was in life, I let her go in death. Balance, and justice. She had been trapped in a nightmare of your creation, you know. She released you from your dream to live the nightmare. Your grandmother lost her ability to walk so that you may move forward, your sister lost her life so that you may live, and I gave up my heart so that you could find yours. Balance, but not justice, and you still refuse to recognize. You deny acknowledgment of their sacrifice. White is the symbol of purity, innocence, cleanliness and death. You wear white. It is appropriate. White reflects all colours that light brings to it, rejecting everything. It is appropriate. That you happened to be a Seal, one who binds and enforces and rejects all at once, is also, appropriate.

After all this time, there is still one thing I don’t know, can’t understand, have not been able to see since I first met you beneath the Sakura. What is your wish, which only I can grant? It would be justice, balance, for you to kill me. I killed your sister, destroyed your family, and broke your heart and your mind and your soul. What could you want beyond that? Your sister’s spell...would be appropriate. You are too kind to ever kill. Perhaps that is why you don’t eat enough. Eating requires you to take a life, or many lives, in order to continue your own existence. Every time. You are still beautiful. I still love you. Hate seems pointless, and has been replaced by resignation. You always did go your own way. The time has come for me to go mine. There is no balance in this world, and I don’t want to try any more. I gave my heart to you, and my hope went with it. Perhaps, in your arms...

“Anata wa...yasashii kara...Subaru-kun....” You hold me, draw me close, and support me for the first time since I have known you. It’s warm here. “Boku wa...kimi o...” 

**Author's Note:**

> Japanese quote at the end is Seishirou's final words to Subaru right before he dies (in the little shit's arms, because Subaru killed him, because why not).
> 
> I haven't been a part of this fandom since...I originally posted this. So literally years, if not closer to a decade. If you want to track down the rest of my work on the other major fanfiction site you can search by fandom/title to find it because I haven't changed anything aside from my pseudonym and how many grey hairs I've gained since then.


End file.
